Deeper Than Touch
by TakumaAngel
Summary: Rogue took the cure, but didn't receive the reception she anticipated when she returned home. Not a human and no longer a mutant, who was she? Logan knew, and he wasn't about to let her forget it. That old, familiar rhythm of their friendship returns, and Marie embraces the one person she thought was out of her reach. But will the Wolverine let her get that close?
1. Chapter 1: Friends

**A/N:** Hey guys, I had a short story idea, one that won't require too many chapters. I had a Rogan story before, but I lost it, dummy me deleted it. But I'm not going to be as ambitious this time. Anyway, enjoy the first chapter!

Chapter One: Friends

This wasn't going the way I had planned—not at all—and I was scared… Okay, maybe scared wasn't the right word, but I was afraid of losing what I'd tried so hard to keep. I had thought I was making the right decision, a decision that would allow me to live the way I wanted to live. A decision that would give me back the life I thought I'd lost forever. But it seemed that my choice had backfired, and I was afraid of being alone again.

"Why, Rogue? Just tell me why? For me?"

"Yes! I mean, no!"

"That's not what I wanted!"

"No, it's what _I_ wanted!"

"So you could touch me. Look, I get it. I mean, I…I've always wanted to touch you, but… Don't you understand? I didn't want you to change for me! I loved you exactly as you were."

I flinched at the past tense, not entirely sure what that meant for us.

"I know, Bobby, but—"

"You didn't like yourself? Rogue, you are—and always were—beautiful. Not just physically, but…everything about you. You were perfect. You didn't have to change."

"I missed human contact! You don't know what it's like, Bobby! You don't know what it's like to never be able to touch someone's hand, and kiss them on the cheek, or hold them in the middle of the night. You don't understand what it's like to feel the world through gloves and scarves. It wasn't for _you_. It was for _me._ For _us._ And dammit, I did it so I could have the future I wanted—the future I've always wanted, whether it includes you or not!"

The anger and desperation left his face, and for a second, I was relieved. My relief vanished though when his expression became stony, and I could see the frustration and the confusion in his eyes.

"But you're not a mutant now."

My jaw dropped and I narrowed my eyes at him. "What does that have to do with anything?"

Heaving a heavy sigh and rubbing the back of his neck as he tore his gaze away from me to look out my bedroom window, I could tell he was fighting to find the right words.

"Well?" I asked more insistently.

He looked down at his shoes. "Well, you're not…you're not Rogue…anymore…"

I couldn't believe what I was hearing. "Bobby, I'm still the same person! The only difference is I can touch people without killin' em!"

"No. The Rogue I know was smart, strong, and independent, even with her powers. She could handle anything. She never backed down. She didn't run away."

"Are you calling me a coward?"

"No! I just mean—"

"I'm a coward."

"I just…I thought you were stronger than that. I thought maybe you'd learn to control your powers instead of…I don't know, taking the easy way out by taking that cure. They want rid of us, Rogue, and you helped them. Now there's one less mutant in the world."

I gaped at him, horrified. "Easy? You think that mustering up the guts to get that cure was easy? What if it wasn't a cure? What if it killed me? What if it was poison? What if it didn't work? And do you really think I never thought about how you and everyone else at this school would treat me? But I thought that last worry was stupid because I figured it wouldn't matter to you! I thought you'd love me and accept me no matter what choice I made, as long as it made me happy! I thought you'd be happy to actually be able to touch me! Or did you just have this sick fascination with the untouchable?"

"No, of course not!"

Silence. I didn't like it. I could hear my heart thundering in my head, feel it in my fingertips and in my toes. It hammered in my chest, I was so angry and scared and upset. I didn't understand his problem, and obviously he didn't understand mine. I had this gnawing, sinking feeling that it was over between us, and as the silence drug on, that feeling only grew.

"So…?" I finally asked.

He sighed again, looking back down at his shoes for a moment before focusing again on my face. "You're… not a mutant. You're not Rogue."

"Maybe I'm not. But I am still Marie. And I'm still here, ain't I?"

"But this is… This is a school for mutants."

"Are you saying you want me to leave?" I gave a humorless laugh. "I have nowhere else to go! Professor Xavier won't kick me out just cause I don't have my powers anymore!"

"I know that, but… You're just not… the same. You're not human, but… you're not a mutant now either…"

I wanted to scream at him, but at the same time, I wanted to shove him out the door, curl up in a ball on my bed, and cry. So that's how it was going to be. I was going to be an outcast again—the ultimate outcast. Not a human, not a mutant: just… nothing.

I could see that he didn't want me anymore. Our relationship was over, and all because I thought I could do something to make myself happy. My momma always told me to make sure I took care of myself—back before she realized I was a freak. But I knew she was right. You couldn't expect other people to make you happy. You had to learn to love yourself and when to make choices to ensure your own happiness.

So why didn't I feel happy?

Because it's hard to lose someone you love, someone you thought would be there for you no matter what happened. It was hard to love yourself so much that you could face the world all alone and know you'd be just fine.

I wanted to cry, but I didn't. At least not in front of Bobby. I don't know how, but I managed to keep myself together long enough to finish what I had started. I squared my shoulders and looked him straight in the eye (maybe he would think twice about calling me a coward).

"Alright. I get it. You'd rather have a mutant girlfriend, and—"I shrugged and started to back towards the door"—that's not me anymore. Humans don't want to date mutants. I guess it's only natural that mutants wouldn't want to date humans. But hey, I think Kitty's still available. You two have been getting awful close lately."

Bobby didn't say anything and it hurt to think that maybe he'd been waiting for an excuse to dump me for her anyway.

I tried not to think about that.

He still made no attempt to speak—not even a word of protest against my accusations—and I had nothing left to say. 'Goodbye,' or 'see you later' didn't seem to taste right on my tongue, so I didn't say either of those. Instead, I just turned and left the room, my even steps quickly turning to heavy footfalls when I began running a few paces from the doorway.

I could feel the tears coming, the one's I had held back through the duration of my argument with Bobby. My head was spinning, my eyes heart, my chest felt heavy, and I just wanted to hide under a rock. The mansion suddenly had me feeling claustrophobic, and I needed desperately to get outside, to breathe in fresh air, and to calm myself down.

I nearly ran into Kitty, who was the last person I wanted to see at the moment.

"Hey Rogue. What's wrong?" she asked, and I felt a little guilty about the vindictive thought's I'd had about her over the past few months. She really was sweet and nice. Jealousy had a way of bringing out the darker side in everyone I supposed.

"Nothin', I'm fine." I went to move past her, and my hand brushed against her wrist. She flinched instinctively, but when nothing happened, she just stared back at me in confusion.

"Don't worry. I took the cure…" I mumbled.

Kitty gave me this strange look that was somewhere between confusion and pity. I couldn't stand to see it, so I bolted again. I passed several of the other students as I rushed through the halls and out of the rear entrance that led to the gardens and the courts. I could feel their curious stares, and I could imagine that they'd all be just as disappointed in me as Bobby was, and they'd probably be of the opinion that I shouldn't be allowed to stay at Xavier's school because I was no longer a mutant.

I wasn't just heartbroken over Bobby. No, it was so much more than that. Once again, I found my world yanked out from under me. When I put my first boyfriend in a coma and found myself thrown out of my own house by my own parents, I had suffered an identity crisis, hence the name Rogue. But now that I wasn't 'Rogue' anymore… Who or what was I?

X-X-X

The 'no smoking in the mansion' rule of Chuck's was understandable, but it still irritated me. Sure, I was an outside kind of guy, but sometimes I just didn't particularly want to see anybody and would prefer to puff on one of Cuba's finest in the quiet darkness of my own goddamn room. Out of respect for his memory, I decided to honor his pointless rule anyway. After the events of the past few weeks, I felt like I needed some time away from all the students running around the school. I had tried to deny what had happened, how I'd let Jean down, but it didn't seem to help. I couldn't stop replaying the memories, and her death only added fuel to my constant nightmares.

It made me angry, frustrated—like I wanted to cut someone's goddamn head off. Magneto's preferably. I blamed that bastard for not fucking listening to reason.

Then again, I hadn't fucking listened to Chuck either.

No, I couldn't deny that Jean was dead, and I damn sure couldn't deny that I had killed her. That moment would be burned in my memory forever. But I had managed to push the waking memories aside a little with the help of several beers, and the relaxing smell of my cigs. I had kept to myself for the better part of three weeks, and though it gave me too much time to think, at least I had time to try to calm myself down so I wouldn't rip anyone's head off unnecessarily.

I leaned against the back outer wall of the mansion and drew from my cigar, letting the smoke funnel slowly out into the open air afterward. The kids were still oddly quiet. I guessed they'd been pretty traumatized by the fiasco at Alcatraz too, even if they hadn't been there themselves. Regardless, it was shit to think about how they'd all lost their innocence early just because they were born different.

When the breeze slowed, and the leaves on the trees stopped their rustling, my ears picked up the sound of someone crying. Normally I'd just ignore it. Kids cried all the time, usually about pointless shit, but I recognized the sound all too well.

But that couldn't be right. She hadn't been back since…

Frowning, I stubbed out my cigar in the palm of my hand and pocketed it for later as I pushed away from the wall to walk around the side of the mansion. The school was huge, and the gardens were even bigger, but eventually I found her, sitting on a bench under a couple trees, so far away that no one but me could have heard her.

It was her alright. I knew where she'd gone, but I didn't know where she'd been the last few weeks. I was glad she was home, but I wasn't glad to see her so upset. I figured she probably wanted to be alone, same as me, but I couldn't just not check up on her. I had made her a promise after all.

Besides, I had to know what had her so worked up. I cared about her too much, and dammit, I hated when she was hurt.

She turned away, knowing someone was approaching, and tried to mask the sound of her crying, but her tense posture, her uneven breathing, and her hiccupping all gave her away. Cautiously, I approached her.

"Hey, kid. Long time, no see."

"Not now, Logan," she said in a choked voice, refusing to look in my direction. "Leave me alone!"

Normally I didn't give a rat's ass about some kid crying. Like I said, it was usually something stupid or petty, or brought on by some childish drama, but I knew _her_ better than that. She had grown a lot in the past three years, and she was a hell of a lot stronger than she was back when I first met her. If she was this upset, the cause had to be pretty serious.

Instead of leaving her to wallow in her own problems—because I knew she wasn't like me, and being alone wasn't really what she needed—I slowly sat down on the bench next to her. She kept her head turned and even seemed to pull away from me, but I wasn't about to back down. It was rare that I showed any sort of affection toward another person, but there had always been something about her that compelled me to let her know I was there to protect her, to comfort and reassure her if she ever needed me to.

Placing a hand on her back, I leaned forward some to try to get her to look at me. "What's eatin' ya, huh?" I asked quietly, a tone I could only ever remember using with her. When she didn't answer, I tried again. "Hey, you can tell me. I'm your friend, remember?"

"Are you?" she spat back, much to my surprise.

I furrowed my brows, staring at her. "Of course I am, kid. Why the hell would you even have to ask? I'm here ain't I?"

"I'm not a mutant anymore!" she shouted, though her voice was still choked, and it was clear she was having a hard time holding back the tears.

So she _had_ gotten the cure. My guess was that it hadn't had the outcome she'd expected.

"What's that got to do with anything?" I asked. It wasn't like it was a big deal to me. I liked her just fine either way. She was still my friend. She was still Marie.

She shot to her feet, her sobs wracking her body. "Don't you get it, Logan? I'm not a human, I'm not a mutant; I'm nothing!"

I stood up quick, panicked as she covered her face with her hands and sobbed into them. Without hesitation, I wrapped my arms around her before she collapsed in the grass, holding her to me and knowing that without my support, her legs would buckle. She was so upset she was shaking, and I was scared because I'd never seen her that way before.

She tried to push me away, tried to protest, but I didn't let go of her as I cradled her head beneath my chin, and she was nowhere near strong enough to break my grip.

Finally, she gave up fighting and wrapped her arms around my waist, burying her face in my chest. I didn't know whether it was because she had no strength left to fight, or because she decided she needed me after all. I kind of hoped it was the latter, but I figured it was a bit of both.

"Shhh…It's alright, kid," I said, not realizing right away that I had begun to stroke her hair. Another gesture to get her to calm down. "Now you know that's not true."

"Yes it is…" she choked out, and I felt her arms squeeze around me, as if I was the only thing keeping her from drowning in whatever was messing with her head.

"No it's not. That's bullshit, and you know it," I said, more gruffly that time, hoping she'd snap out of it. She couldn't really believe that shit. "Who in the hell gave you that idea? I'll kick their goddamn ass."

"It doesn't matter, Logan, cause it _is_ true. I didn't fit in with humans, I had only barely fit in with mutants cause I had deadly skin, and everyone was afraid of me. Now I'm neither one, and I don't belong here. I don't know where I belong—I don't belong anywhere! I have no place to go!"

"Stop it!" I grabbed her upper arms and pushed her away from me just enough to make her look at me. Her senseless monologue was pissing me off with every word.

Her glassy brown eyes were huge, like doe eyes, and the tears still rolled down her red-tinged cheeks. Her eyes were red and puffy, and her body still shook beneath my hands.

"Just…stop it, Marie!"

Something flickered in those huge, doe eyes when I said her name, but it was gone so fast I couldn't read it.

"Look…I don't know who's been feeding you this garbage, or where it came from, but you're not a nobody. You hear me?"

She seemed to deflate at that. The tears slowed, but they didn't stop. "I-I thought it would help. I wanted it, Logan. Not for some boy, or to be accepted, or so people wouldn't be scared of me anymore, although I can't deny that those were other reasons for doing what I did. I just… I wanted to touch again… I wanted… I wanted that physical contact, that intimacy with people. Logan, do you have any idea what it's like to not be able to touch someone without being afraid of hurting them? Do you know how-how lonely that gets? How awful that feels?"

I felt the muscles in my face shift, and my jaw became less rigid. She really had no idea that I'd caused plenty of people I loved a lot of pain and suffering.

I nodded. "Yeah, Marie… I do."

She suddenly looked up at me in horror. "Oh my God, Logan, I'm so sorry. I didn't mean—I mean, I know about… Jean…"

I shook my head. I didn't want to talk about Jean. "Don't worry about it. Doesn't matter now." I moved my hands up to her shoulders. "What matters is that you're here. I made a promise to take care of you, and you can bet your ass I won't let you down. You may not feel like you belong here, at this damn school, or living around non-mutants, but as long as I'm still alive and kickin', you have a place at my side, as my friend, Marie."

Her sobs had quieted, and her tears had slowed. Relief washed over me as she began to settle down and her breathing began to even out. I held her gaze as we stood there in silence, and I noticed a long-lost emotion return to those normally bright green eyes, one that I hadn't seen since she hooked up with that Drake kid.

"Thank you, Logan," she said quietly. "I'm…sorry…"

"Don't worry about it. Hey, what are friends for?"

She heaved a sigh and glanced down at her feet. "I just…" Her eyes shot back up to mine. "Did I do the right thing?"

"Doesn't matter what anyone else thinks. What matters is what _you_ think."

"I don't know what to think…I want to know…do you think I'm a coward for taking that cure?"

"Remember what I said to you before you left that day?"

"Yeah…you said to follow my instincts."

"That's right. And you did. It seems like you had something to lose no matter what choice you made. It couldn't have been an easy decision. But you made it. I also understand what it's like to…to want to be closer to someone. I understand the fear of hurting them, and the pain that comes when you actually do."

"To be honest…I didn't do it for anyone in particular. I did it for me. I wanted to enjoy my life, not shy away from it…" She slowly reached her hand up and placed her fingertips against my collar bone, exposed as it was by my wife beater and my unbuttoned leather jacket. "I had forgotten what it felt like to touch someone. Living life through gloves is suffocating. I just couldn't do it anymore, Logan… I just couldn't."

I reached up to grab her hand without even thinking about it, feeling pained at the sight of the desperation in her eyes and face, and at the sound of it in her voice. All she really wanted was for someone to understand what she wanted—what she needed—and I did. I understood better than she'd ever know.

"I don't think that makes you a coward," I said quietly. "I think it makes you human. Powers or no powers, mutant or not, we're _all_ still human, Marie. And anyone who doesn't understand that is a goddamn idiot."

That long-lost emotion in her eyes grew more intense now, and for some reason, I welcomed it—wanted more of it. She threw her arms around my neck and buried her face there, mumbling into my skin.

"Thank you, Logan…"

I held her there, not sure why I welcomed the feel of her skin against mine, of her arms around me, and of her Southern voice, soft and sure and sweet on my ears. I rubbed a hand over her back and buried my nose in her hair. I wanted her to know that I was there, and that I always would be. I wanted her to know she wasn't alone.

After a few minutes, I pulled away a little and she looked up at me. "Hey. What do you say we ditch these dorks for a while?"

There were a short pause before she nodded.

I grinned down at her as I turned her toward the garage, my hand still on her back as a guide. "Come on, let's get outta here."

She was quiet as we walked into the garage and headed for the bike. I tossed her a helmet before hopping on. She only hesitated for a moment before slipping the helmet onto her head and climbing on behind me.

I couldn't remember the last time I rode with a passenger, if I'd ever done it at all, but when she wrapped her arms around my waist and leaned her head against my shoulder blades, I could tell she needed this—needed an escape. I understood that, too. I hit the garage door opener that was built into the bike before I started it. I had no idea if she'd ever ridden a motorcycle before, but she didn't flinch when the engine roared to life.

She asked no questions as we took off, away from the mansion and away from the city. I didn't drive as fast as I usually did (no sense in freaking her out), but I can't say the ride wasn't enjoyable. It was different. Odd. Hell, it was nice. Peaceful.

As we made our way out into the country via the state route that led away from Westchester, I felt her heave a sigh of what I imagined was relief. I lifted my chin a little higher and made the bike go a little faster as I thought;

' _That's my girl.'_

X-X-X

In the three years I'd known Logan, he'd never taken me with him when he left. I always seemed to watch as he sped off on what used to be Scott's bike, never knowing where he was going, or how long he would be gone. I didn't know where we were going then, but I realized I didn't care. Was that how Logan felt each time he rode away from that place?

More and more, I began to understand why he took off so much. It was freeing, being on that bike as we rode out of the city. Nothing mattered but the tingle of the wind on my skin, the surreal beauty of the scenery that raced by, and the loud, powerful rumble of the bike's engine as we left everything else behind. I hadn't expected a motorcycle ride to be peaceful, but it was, silencing all the nagging thoughts in my head. I felt like I was flying.

Logan kept me grounded. It was strange: he was so flighty, unable to settle down and stay in one place for too long. Yet, ever since the day I met him, he'd been an unlikely source of stability. When I doubted whether I could trust anyone else, Logan assured me that I could put my trust in him, and he'd never let me down. I knew then that it didn't matter whether Bobby ever accepted me again. Logan did.

We understood each other, he and I. We were the outsiders. Loners. I had foolishly that that by taking the cure, that might change for me, but clearly it hadn't. And you know what? That was okay. I had my own life to live, and now I was free to live it. I vowed I would no longer let anyone hold me back. Then I realized that if I ever made that mistake again, Logan would most likely be there to knock some sense back into me.

Logan.

It felt like old times again, just the two of us. We'd never stopped being close, but because of my relationship with Bobby, there'd been a necessary distance between us that was now nonexistent. I remembered those girlish fantasies I'd once had about Logan, and mentally rolled my eyes at them. I felt silly but didn't care when new ones took hold of my imagination. At least I knew realistically that they wouldn't play out. I held no illusions anymore. Still, they were a nice escape anyway.

We rode for hours, going nowhere, but seeing everything. Words weren't needed. I was glad when he finally pulled into a diner off the main road since my stomach had decided to protest the lack of food a while ago. I hopped off the bike and pulled off the helmet, hooking it over the handle bars as Logan dismounted.

"Hungry?" he asked.

"You bet."

His fingertips gently pressed into my lower back to coax me to go on ahead of him. I knew the gesture was platonic, but I smiled anyway as he followed.

At around seven in the evening, the customers at the diner were thankfully sparse, and we took a booth away from the few others that were there. It was nothing special, just a burger joint, but Logan and I fell back into our familiar banter as we ate. I couldn't finish all my fries, and he helped himself to my leftovers, not even having to ask.

"So, did you miss me?" I asked, only half joking.

"Every day," he grinned.

I rolled my eyes. "Yeah, right," I said, knowing that was an exaggeration, especially with all that had happened with Magneto's assault; but I was also aware that he had actually missed me to some extent.

"Alright. Most days."

I raised my eyebrows playfully.

"Fine, I missed you sometimes. The other times, I was grateful you weren't being a pain in my ass."

I laughed.

"I'm serious," he said, though his mock stoicism didn't reach his eyes.

"I really missed _you_ , Logan," I admitted, and his smile returned.

"I missed you, too, kid."

"Marie," I corrected, a little conflicted over his term of endearment.

His face took on a look of contemplation. "Marie," he finally acknowledged with a nod.

The waitress walked by and dropped off the check. Logan pulled out his wallet to pay, and I felt a little guilty since I didn't have mine. I couldn't even leave the tip. He looked at me and asked if I was ready to go. I nodded, and together we left the diner.

We drove another half an hour or so, and when we stopped again, he parked the bike at an outlook. I sat sideways on the seat and he leaned next to me against the motorcycle, taking the time to smoke a cigar as we enjoyed the comfortable silence, the sky beginning to dim with the sunset.

"Do we have to go back?" I asked, knowing and resenting the answer before he even replied.

He gave a chuckle. "Got any better ideas?"

"I don't know. I'd rather just…stay here. Go anywhere but back there."

"I know it can be stuffy, but it's home."

I decided it was best not to voice what was on my mind: that nowhere was home without Logan.

"I guess you're right."

"It'll all blow over, you'll see."

"And if it doesn't?"

He looked at me seriously. "Hey, if anyone gives you a hard time, they're gonna have to answer to me."

"Promise me somethin'?"

"What?"

"Promise you'll take me with you more?"

He looked away momentarily as he stubbed out his cigar, but then his eyes found mine again. "I promise."

With that promise, I felt my place at his side was solidified. It was as if from then on, it was going to be Logan and me against the world. Even as he stood straight and motioned for me to move so he could swing his leg back over the bike and take us home, I knew that something had shifted, and I prayed it stayed that way.

It was dark as we rode back to the mansion, and I had a hard time keeping my eyes open, the wear of the day finally catching up to me. I let them fall closed, and my mind drifted in and out of consciousness as I tuned into the rhythm of Logan's breaths beneath the growl of the engine. I was so lost in it that I hadn't noticed when we stopped.

"Wake up, kid."

While my foggy brain worked to play catch-up, I registered enough to correct him again.

"Marie."

I felt him heave a sigh as I slowly lifted my head to find we were already home, and I wondered how much of the drive I'd slept through.

"Alright, wake up, _Marie_."

"I am."

"Are you gonna move so I can get up?"

I still had my arms around him, and I reluctantly pulled them away and dismounted the bike. I took off the helmet as he followed suit. He took it from me to hang it on the handlebars. I mumbled a 'thanks' before he steered me inside.

Most of the students and staff were in their rooms since it was after midnight. I looked at the clock in the hallway and noted that it was actually closer to one o'clock. He led the way up the stairs until we reached the floor my room was on.

I turned to Logan, hoping to stall the moment since we'd have to part ways. He gave another smile and said, "See you in the morning."

Not sure what to say, I stammered a "Yeah" before he nodded once and continued on to the floor above mine. I wanted desperately to follow him, as stupid as the thought was. The contentment I'd felt all day long in his company vanished right along with him, and I turned and shuffled down the hall to my own room.

Tired as I was, I immediately made to change for bed. Halfway through the process, I happened to glance at myself in the mirror, instantly focusing on my bare skin. I had been fascinated with it since taking the cure, no longer afraid of or disgusted by it, but I had yet to actually appreciate it in a way I thought I'd never be able to.

I lifted a hand to my bare shoulder, and I imagine that it was Logan's instead. Would he think I was beautiful?

Quickly, I let my hand fall, shocked at where my thoughts had gone. I turned to grab my nightgown and pull it on before shutting off the light and climbing into bed. I was relieved when it didn't take me long to fall asleep.

X-X-X

A restless night was the norm for me, but every morning, I had to grin and bear it I guess, though I didn't often do much grinning. What was the point, anyway? Tragic past, tragic present, and I was most likely headed toward a tragic future, so what else was new?

I took a cold shower early that morning and hid in my room for a while before I felt like rejoining the obnoxious world of the living. Coming down the stairs into the entry hall, I caught a conversation that I had every intention of ignoring until I heard Marie's voice and decided to investigate, hoping no one was giving her any trouble and planning to step in if I had to.

"I'm sorry. What I said yesterday was stupid. Of course you belong here. W-with all of us… With me."

It was that Drake kid. So the Ice Prick had been the one to make her cry yesterday by putting the idea in her head that she needed to leave since she didn't have her powers anymore. My knuckles itched as I quietly approached the game room to glance inside and make sure she was okay.

"I appreciate you saying so, but…I don't need you to tell me where I am and am not welcome," she replied, her voice strangely calm.

"I know, I know! Look, I didn't mean it, I just didn't know what to say. But I thought about it, and with or without your powers, you're still…Marie."

He reached out to take her gloveless hand, but she showed no visible reaction.

"You're still amazing and beautiful and sweet, and I want to give us another try."

"I'm happy that you accept my decision. Really." She slowly pulled her hand from his, and Drake's expression fell. "But I think we've been growing apart for a while, and I don't want to do it anymore," she said, standing her ground and not even flinching. I was surprised to see how little breaking up with the Ice Prick affected her, even when he looked like she'd gut-punched him. I couldn't say I cared much about his feelings.

He glanced down, withdrawing his hand and gathering his wits about him before he looked back up at her. "So that's it?"

She gave a small, one-sided shrug. "I guess so."

For a minute, Drake looked like he was trying to find some kind of response, but then his eyes landed on me in the doorway, and he looked like a deer in the headlights.

Marie swung her head around, but I kept my eyes on Drake.

"Logan."

"Is there a problem here?" I asked, letting that little punk know that I didn't appreciate whatever he'd said or done to upset her the day before.

"No," she said, rising to her feet and speaking in a placating tone. Drake slowly stood, too. "We were just talking."

"Is that right?" I said, sauntering into the room, still refusing to release the Ice Prick. I could tell he wanted to take a step back, but I silently commended him for standing his ground.

"Uh…yeah…" he said uninspiringly.

I shot him a warning look, my knuckles still itching to at least give the kid a black eye, but I looked down when Marie gently took hold of my wrist. The gesture was meant to ask me to back down, but weirdly it had the opposite effect. It only reinforced the reminder of that promise I'd made to protect her. She was my responsibility, and I'd be damned if I was going to let her down.

"It's okay, Logan. We were done." She glanced at Drake, and neither of us missed the double meaning.

I mentally shook myself, wondering why it felt like a victory to hear her say those words.

"Right," I said, deciding the Ice Prick wasn't worth any more of my time. "You want to go get some breakfast?"

"Sure."

I nodded, and we left Drake alone in the game room, to cry I imagine. Good, it would serve him right.

"Why'd you have to scare him like that?" she whispered as we walked across the hall.

"Why not? Maybe he'll think twice before opening his mouth next time."

She sighed. "You heard?"

"Yeah. Should have figured he broke your heart with as fucked up as you were yesterday."

"He didn't—"she stopped, clearly reconsidering her words. "You know what, it doesn't matter. I'm glad it's over. I'm free again."

I glanced down at her, not really understanding what she meant by that, but she only smiled—a smile I couldn't recall seeing her give to anyone else.

"Do I get to pay this time?" she asked as we went through the front door.

"No."

She rolled her eyes and nudged me, and it dawned on me that I couldn't remember having another friend like Marie. Hell, what was a friend anyway? To reflect on it, she'd be the very definition.


	2. Chapter 2: Disarmed

_Chapter Two: Disarmed_

Logan grounded me, and as my grounding agent, he reminded me that even without my powers, I still needed to be able to protect myself. At first I resented his comment, as though he thought I was weak since giving up my mutant abilities.

"You don't have to be weak; that's my point. Alright? I promised to take care of you, and I will. But you're gonna have to learn to take care of yourself, too."

Still bristling at the implication of his words, I blew out a breath, my arms crossed. "Ok, so what do you suggest, _Mr. Logan_?"

"Simple: you're gonna learn to fight."

My irritation was quickly replaced by a sinking feeling in my gut. Me? Fight? On my own, I was an uncoordinated mess. With my powers, I was able to borrow a bit of others' abilities to compensate for my lack of grace, coordination, and balance.

"You're kiddin', right?"

His wordless expression told me he wasn't. I grimaced.

"Don't give me that. I'll teach you everything you need to know."

That time I groaned. The pressure of being supervised by Logan, the hard ass he was, only made the thought worse. On top of that, I had already embarrassed myself in front of him enough during Danger Room sessions. Now his focus was going to be entirely on me?

At first, I was thoroughly embarrassed as he had me practice stances, postures, and strikes without a partner, and I still landed on my butt. It didn't help that he was easily annoyed by it all. It was probably only his commitment to me that made him stick it out, because I could tell that he would have liked to just walk out on me many times. He called for frequent breaks, more so that he could smoke a cigar to calm himself down than to give me a few minutes to regroup. He never verbalized his frustrations, though, and I commended him for that. I was ready to scream at myself. Eventually, though, I started to get better.

One night a few weeks later, sleep was impossible. I'd tried, but Logan's nightmares were haunting me again. Though the cure had taken away my mutant powers, it seemed my memory couldn't be freed from all those I'd touched; and because Logan was the person I'd had the most physical contact with, it was usually his memories that came second only to mine. Lucky for me, the nightmares didn't come nearly as often for me as they did for Logan.

He was sitting in the corner of the sectional couch in the lounge when I went downstairs, his legs sprawled in front of him, and one elbow on the back, his cheek resting on his lose fist. He appeared tired and agitated as he seemed to look past the glow of the television. His eyes shifted in my direction as I walked around the room.

"What are you doing up?" he asked.

I shrugged. "Same as you, I assume."

A look of confusion passed over his face, and I sat down next to him, grabbing a throw blanket to wrap around myself. He turned his attention back to nothing in particular, only momentarily glancing down at the coffee table where the remote lay.

"Well good luck findin' somethin' to watch. This thing's useless at two in the morning."

I didn't bother trying to change the channel because I knew he was right. We sat there in silence, and I barely paid much attention to the old, corny sitcom. The overused laugh-track was enough to help me forget the hellish images that had been stirred up by my subconscious, and I laid my head against the back of the couch, feeling my eyes start to fall closed.

 _Electrifying pain shot through my body, and I felt the hot burn of razor blades as they popped out of my hands. I could hear a voice that wasn't my own roaring out of my throat and boring into my ears._

I jolted awake. Logan didn't seem to notice, his mind somewhere else entirely. I looked down at his other hand—a large paw that currently rested on his open thigh—and my eyes were drawn to the spaces between his knuckles.

I don't know why I wanted to touch them. I chalked it up to the strange connection I had with Logan, and how I knew intimately the first-hand account of the torture he'd suffered at the hands of Stryker and his lackeys. As tired as I was, I suppose I didn't have the mind to inhibit my impulse, because not a moment later, my fingers touched the back of his hand. Living a life suffocating in gloves for the last few years had the odd effect of enhancing my sense of touch, and I swore I could feel every vein and tendon beneath his skin as my fingers moved up to his knuckles where his claws came out.

I didn't have to look up to know I'd regained Logan's attention. His eyes were intensely focused on me, and though I probably should have stopped, I didn't want to.

I felt the extra bones that hid his retractable metal claws, and I was intrigued. I knew that for Logan, they were a burden in a way similar to my own mutant abilities. Still, I loved them simply because they were a part of him. They represented the animal he tried at all times to contain; but it was the beautiful and perhaps tragic coupling of the animal with his gentler, kinder side that had drawn me to Logan from the start, especially since I was one of the few people privileged enough to witness the latter.

I ran the tips of my fingers over his larger ones, and he let me turn his hand over so that I could feel his roughened palm. It was then that the jarring nightmares were entirely forgotten as I was sucked into the experience of being able to touch him—, and I mean _really_ touch him. To touch was a miracle, but to be able to feel Logan was a like a hypnotic dream. I didn't stop, continuing down so that I could press the dip in his upturned wrist and stroke the fine, course hairs that covered his muscled forearm. My face heated as I contemplated the raw power in that one limb alone, and I was amazed that he was letting me touch him.

X-X-X

Though the nightmares were no less bothersome, knowing where they'd come from made it possible for me to at least feel like I had some control over them. Snippets of my time under Stryker's laboratory needles floated in and out of my consciousness, but I paid them less attention now. I focused instead on trying to let them slip out of my awareness altogether because I was too tired to fight the memories. Hell, I was too exhausted to care that my efforts were still in vain. I just hoped my exhaustion would take over soon and end the battle for me.

Maybe it was because I was so exhausted, or because I knew rationally that those nightmares were behind me that I didn't flinch when I felt soft fingers against the back of my hand. I lifted my head to look over at Marie, studying her distant expression as she gently rubbed between my knuckles.

I was sensitive when it came to my hands. The knives inside them itched always, like a trigger finger. Around Jean, I'd felt disarmed—like I hadn't needed to protect myself, or her (though the irony of that didn't escape me). Marie was different than Jean. As strong as she was becoming, she was still vulnerable, and from day one, I'd felt a responsibility to protect her.

But there in the lounge of Xavier's mansion, sitting alone in the dark at 2:00 am with her gentle fingers against my skin, there was no need to keep up my defenses. She wasn't going to hurt me, and there was no threat to her safety. Rather, there was a sweetness in the moment that had me stunned.

I could see the wonder on her face as I let her turn over my hand, and I realized that until that moment, she hadn't been able to fully enjoy her ability to touch. No doubt she'd been hoping to explore it with that Drake kid (something I didn't want to contemplate), but seeing as how their relationship had ended when she'd returned from taking the cure, whatever plans she'd had had likely been screwed.

The coldness that seemed ever present within me melted away—a feeling only Marie could make possible—and I began to feel that familiar low-burning sense of gentle possessiveness in my chest. I didn't know how else to define my end of the unbreakable bond between us.

She seemed to finally realize what it was that she was doing, and I saw her face register the reality of the situation before she looked up at me with apologetic eyes, slowly retracting her hand from my arm. Thanks to the blue light from the television, I could see the rising color in her cheeks.

"I-I'm sorry."

"Nah, don't be," I reassured her quietly. "I get it."

"You do?"

I reached out to her with an open palm. "You wanted to touch people," I said simply.

Her eyes flitted back and forth between my face and my hand, as though uncertain. Finally, she placed her hand in mine and continued her tactile exploration. Watching her was like witnessing a blind person see, or a deaf person hear for the very first time, and I imagined that's what the experience must feel like for her.

Her hand moved further up my arm than it had previously, and I felt my face shift to a thoughtful frown. I couldn't remember anyone ever touching me that way before—with the innocence of a child. But when her eyes met mine again, I saw something else there, something that _didn't_ belong to a child.

She was studying my face, and she took her bottom lip between her teeth.

"What?"

She hesitated. "C-can I…?"

I felt her fingers tremble against my shoulder as she kept her eyes on my face. She wanted to touch that, too. I gave the barest nod, not sure I wanted her to, but also not sure I could refuse her.

I stopped myself from flinching as her hand came closer to my face, not out of fear of her touch, but I suppose out of my own uncertainty. However, when I felt those soft fingertips against my cheek, I felt a level of calm I wasn't used to. The uncertainty was still there, and I continued to wonder what I was seeing in those pretty brown eyes that made me… Fuck, nervous is the only word that came to mind.

I remembered Jean's touch so vividly; how it had always seemed to make me feel like I was burning up. But Marie's… Marie's was like a soothing salve, and I couldn't comprehend it. How could a girl whose mutation was deadly skin-to-skin contact ordinarily have a touch that felt like it could heal the soul?

I dropped my gaze as those fingertips moved up over my brow and down the bridge of my nose, feeling torn. At once I enjoyed the sensation and its calming effects while unable to convince myself that the whole thing wasn't wrong. She was comforting, but too close for comfort. I didn't want to move an inch, and yet I wanted to retreat.

" _I think she's a little taken with you."_

Jean's words echoed in my head (more damn irony), and when Marie's fingers began to trace my lips, I took her hand to slowly pull it away. Meeting her eyes, she looked as though she was afraid she'd gone too far.

"How was that?" I asked, pushing aside my own fucked up feelings on the matter and dodging her apparent nervousness. I gave her hand a light squeeze to reassure her.

She looked down and looked away, and I could see her wheels turning as she tried to come up with an answer. She struggled to find words, and I didn't have the heart to let her fumble for them forever. I put my arm around her and pulled her into my side, which seemed to help her relax. Her shoulders heaved beneath my hand as she drew in a deep breath. I had to try hard not to let my head fall to rest on hers when she fit so perfectly against me. Little did I know that I would find it impossible not to think about her touch in the coming weeks.

X-X-X

It had taken my tired brain a few minutes to catch up, and when it did, I was mortified when I realized I'd been touching Logan without his say so. Of course, if he hadn't been okay with it, I was sure he'd tell me to stop, or pull away—or something. The fact that he hadn't done any of those things made me giddy, but I was still embarrassed.

I'd gotten so caught up, not just in feeling, but in feeling Logan, I felt like I could die happy just having savored the feel of his roughened, weathered skin. That didn't stop my brain from protesting, imagining all sorts of other things I could do with Logan that involved more intimate touching.

I really had to get it together.

My apology was hollow to my own ears, and part of me just wanted to get up and run out the door. Something in Logan's face stopped me, though, and his next words took me by surprise. Duh, of course he would understand my fascination with touching him—though I could tell he didn't understand all of it, and that was fine with me. _He_ probably would have run out the door if he'd known the whole truth. Still, if he let me breach his boundaries that much, maybe I could push a little more…

With his silent nod, I could feel my pulse quicken, and I was sure Logan had to hear it. My fingers brushed against his cheek and felt the prickle of his stubble and sideburns, and it crossed my mind that the experience was like being face-to-face with a bear: large, feral, and dangerous, but somehow strangely subdued. I moved them up over his brow and down the hard ridge of his nose, remembering the first time I'd seen him, cage fighting in that bar in Laughlin City.

I could tell then that he was different, and when I saw him pop out those claws in barely restrained fury, I was actually relieved to find someone who was like me. Maybe I should have been afraid of him, but I hadn't been. I'd thought for sure he was going to leave me there, but the heart underneath all those threatening stares, feral growls, and metal claws had come as a welcome surprise.

Logan's eyes had fallen, and he looked uncomfortable somehow. It occurred to me that I might have pushed too far. As my fingers passed over his lips, my suspicion was confirmed as he pulled my hand away. He didn't vocalize any discomfort with the situation though, probably to spare my feelings.

"How was that?"

I was grateful to Logan, and I didn't want to stop touching him, but I couldn't say what I was thinking out loud. While the whole thing had been completely innocent, I felt guilty because not all of my thoughts were, and I was afraid I was too transparent—that he knew what I was thinking and would force some distance between us. I knew Logan cared about me, but he didn't like me the way he'd liked Jean—the way he still loved her—and it was doubtful he ever would even if she was gone and I no longer had the ability to kill him.

To me, Logan was like some dark version of Superman. He was strong and untouchable, but the goodness inside him had been twisted and tainted. It was still there, buried under layers and layers of defenses that were meant to help him survive. I was lucky to be one of the few who got to experience it.

I loved Logan. In what way, I was still trying to figure out, but I did love him. Yet he seemed so far out of my reach, even now.

Not knowing what to say, I wasn't able to say anything. My fears were eased when he pulled me into his side. It seemed like everything was going to be fine, thank goodness. I welcomed the warmth of his body and the press of his strong arm around my shoulders, as well as the ability to hide my heated face from his intense gaze.

When I finally went back to bed, sleep still didn't come easy. My brain was too busy running in circles around Logan.

X-X-X

The training process was long and grueling, but I was able to take pride in my hard work when I no longer fell, Logan had to correct my form much less, and it became a lot easier to maintain stamina as I practiced with the punching bags.

Logan never sparred with me, the both of us knowing it was pretty pointless since the only thing that would accomplish would be giving me broken hands at the very least. Training or no training, I couldn't beat metal. I did enjoy the few times he touched me, either to fix my form or to show me how my moves would land on my opponent. To not have to worry about hurting him with my skin was like a miracle.

We were in the courtyard one warm, sunny day as he put me through my paces while he stood there with his hands on his hips.

"Your opponent strikes on your left." I dodged and struck with my right fist. "He swings high." I dove low and spun, giving an upper left-hook. "Good. Left kick. Right kick. Give 'em the heel. Don't let up, keep goin'."

"How long do you want me to do this?"

"Quit complaining and watch your feet."

"I'm not complaining, it was just a question!" I fired back, burning up and glad I'd put my hair up so that it was off my neck and shoulders. I shouldn't have put any attention on a comeback, though, since I ended up tripping over my own feet and landing face down in the grass.

I heard Logan let out an exasperated breath before he moved to stand in front of me as I sat up.

"Stop payin' attention to me and watch what you're doin'."

"Hey, I'm doin' a lot better than I was."

"Yeah, well a misstep like that could get you killed."

As I improved, his annoyance waned and I was able to more easily see what was beneath it: it was fear. I hated to admit it, but I was more vulnerable without my powers. Just because I didn't have them anymore didn't mean I wasn't still a target. I lived and associated with other mutants, and even if I didn't, the world could still be a dangerous place.

He was right. I couldn't rely solely on him. I had to be able to rely on myself in desperate situations.

I got to my feet and grinned up at him. "You're cute when you worry, Logan," I said just to tease him.

He glared at the word 'cute.'

"It's not gonna be cute when you're dead."

"I'm doin' the best I can. You just have to be patient with me, okay? Until then, I trust you not to let me die," I said, placing a hand on his chest.

Apparently that was the wrong thing to say. The annoyance and concern were replaced by anger, guilt, and grief, and he averted his eyes. "Yeah, well I don't know if I can promise that," he said, turning and moving several paces away from me.

My face fell and I slowly took a few steps toward him. "I'm sorry, Logan. That wasn't the best thing to say—"

"Forget it," he said abruptly, turning to wave me on. "Just get back to your training."

I bit my lip, feeling like a heel, but turned away from him and continued my stances.

It was unfair of me to put so much pressure on Logan. He had saved my life a few times, but to ask him to keep doing it? No, I needed to hold my own, and if something happened to me, it was going to be because _I_ screwed up, not because Logan did. He had suffered enough, so I would do what I could to make sure I didn't need his protection all the time.

X-X-X

Fifteen years I wandered, alone, no place to call home, looking out for me and only me. It got lonely. Sometimes I'd pick up a chick here or there for the occasional one-night stand, but something told me I was better off not getting attached. What could a guy with amnesia give to another person anyway?

Then I found Marie, and from that day forward, my life (or what I could remember of it) had never been the same. I found these geeks, led by that old man in the wheelchair, and dammit, I actually learned to like them. If I was being even more honest, I even learned to love a few of them.

I don't know if I had a father, but Chuck became like one to me. In his gentle manner, he steered me off of my lonely road and helped me find a reason to live. Marie became part of that. She reminded me that there were things in this world worth fighting for: things like innocence and peace. Without her, I might have walked out on Charles that day I woke up here in the mansion.

And then there was Jean. Oh God, Jean. Despite her engagement and eventual marriage to that dick Summers, there was something between us I couldn't explain. It was more than hot passion—it was genuine attraction. I couldn't help but think she only stayed with that jackass out of a sense of obligation when what she really wanted was me. After Summers's death, I thought I could help her. I thought I could be what she needed—what we both wanted. I thought I was strong enough to save her.

Chuck's death made me question everything he'd taught me about hope. Jean was the one who helped me hang onto that hope. I believed so much that I could do it, that I could pull her through all of Magnito's brainwashing. In the end, I had to destroy her. I could still hear her plea for me to save her, and I could still feel my claws pierce her body—see the expression on her face as she finally found peace in her own death.

I'd already lost Charles and Jean. While I cared about Storm and Fuzzball, and the kids, the only person left that kept me grounded was Marie. She had a future, and I didn't want it to be cut short. Though I'd try my damndest, I couldn't rely on myself to be there to protect her, not when I couldn't protect Jean and the Professor.

That's why I pushed her so hard. That's why I got so frustrated when she made a mistake. I wanted her to be the perfect warrior to defend herself when I inevitably couldn't.

She _wouldn't_ be perfect. She was trying her best, and she was doing well, but perfection wasn't possible. I had a hard time accepting that. What if we both failed, and she wound up dead? I wasn't sure I would be able to recover. I was doing a shitty job dealing with Charles's and Jean's deaths as it was.

Somehow, Marie seemed to understand more than I had shared. She approached me as I stood by the memorials for Jean and Charles, standing with me in silence while I contemplated my losses and counted the few good things I still had going for me. She didn't speak until I turned my attention to her.

"I know why you do it," she said.

I looked down at her, confused. "Do what?"

"Why you push me so hard."

"Uh…yeah. Sorry about that."

"Don't be. I understand, and I appreciate it. Despite your promise, it's not your job to take care of me. I'm not that helpless little girl anymore."

No, she wasn't. Though she still had some growing up to do, she was far from the naïve, scrawny kid I found in the back of my truck a few years back. Still, she wasn't indestructible like me. Hell, Chuck had seemed pretty indestructible even if he _had_ been confined to a wheelchair, and look what happened to him.

I'd dropped my gaze to the grass at my feet, but looked up again when I felt the weight of her hand press against my arm.

"I miss them too, you know."

I didn't push her away when she hugged me—the only person who had the privilege of doing so. Instead, I relaxed into it and wrapped my arms around her. The pain would never go away, but at least I had Marie. For how long, I didn't know, but for the time being, she was there, and she was okay.


End file.
